


Meat Toboggan

by Revioli



Category: Devil May Cry, DmC: Devil May Cry
Genre: F/M, Kickass Reader, Musically Inclined Reader, better be gettin' on that monster fucking train or you're outta luck, but hey, gross body morphing, kinda gross monster art, lil bit of angst sprinkled in, now with art, thats what im here for, you're an eldritch horror babey
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-24
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2020-03-13 10:16:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18938923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Revioli/pseuds/Revioli
Summary: The last few hours had been pretty shit for your mood, to be honest. It had been a long time since you’d had to fight to get from point A to B and even longer still that you didn’t really have a choice in the matter. Ever since that overgrown weed had sprouted a couple blocks from your apartment, you’d been busting your ass evacuating people and trying your damnedest not to get turned into a meat-toboggan by the never ending stream of demons.It was a weird kind of family reunion, honestly. One you’d kind of been hoping to avoid.-------This is basically a compilation of one-shots revolving around the idea of a character (you) having initially been a summoned demon that absorbed a human's uh... humanity, I guess. So now you're living your best life, coming to terms with what you are. Was a weird brain fart that kinda escalated into whatever this is. Get prepped for gross monster shit, romance and angst. PC's abilities are loosely based on the Video Game: Prototype





	1. Chapter 1

One after the other you cut them down. It was easy enough, their weird fleshy forms and creepy bulbous limbs barely stood against your blade. The only thing you really had to complain about was the amount of blood and gore caking your clothes and getting matted in your hair. What you wouldn’t give for a shower right about now.

The last few hours had been pretty shit for your mood, to be honest. It had been a long time since you’d had to fight to get from point A to B and even longer still that you didn’t really have a choice in the matter. Ever since that overgrown weed had sprouted a couple blocks from your apartment, you’d been busting your ass evacuating people and trying your damnedest not to get turned into a meat-toboggan by the never ending stream of demons.

It was a weird kind of family reunion, honestly. One you’d kind of been hoping to avoid.

But, alas, you had no such luck. And so you turned that frown upside down and continued tearing through demons one by one, muttering all the way.

“Timothy! So good to see you again,” Your blade morphed into a clawed hand that embedded itself into the abdomen of your conversation partner. “Say hi to the kids for me.” A demonic screech was your only answer as ‘Timothy’ turned to dust and blew away.

You hummed, “He never was one for pleasantries.”

The hours ticked by tortuously slow, one fight after another eating away at the time. You seriously debated learning a couple stealthy skills so you wouldn’t have to keep. fucking. __fighting.__ But you’d counted at least seventeen people that you’d saved and escorted to a safe area away from most of the bloodshed. So you guessed you should be happy you were actually achieving _something,_ instead of only succeeding in ruining your favorite pair of jeans. Which you were doing impeccably at, by the way. By the time the day was done, you might as well be _ _wearing__ Timothy, considering the amount of blood and gore currently seeping into your clothes.

Fucking _gross._

You were resting now, sitting on the broken stonework with your legs crossed and back pressed to the dubiously stable wall of what __could__  have been a kindergarten. But considering the roots wrapping around what looked like a slide and the gaping hole in one side of the building, you doubted anyone would be sending their kids to school any time soon.

You tried not to think about how many small bodies might be littered around inside it’s walls.

Your eyes closed, head tilted back to rest on the wall behind you and arm morphed back into it’s natural state, fingers sticky with blood. Fuck, you were tired. You hadn’t used up this much energy in so short a time in years and now it was obvious how out of shape you were. But you’d been enjoying your mundane life, thank you very much. Coming home from a job you enjoyed to curl up on the sofa with your guitar and a notebook may not have been particularly interesting, but you enjoyed it. It was mundane. _Normal._  All you ever wanted was _normal._

Guess that was too much to ask for.

“Hey Shakespeare, found another one!”

You groaned at the interruption of your rest, feeling your arm harden and warp into a wicked looking blade. “Fuck __off.”__ You growled, prying your eyes open to pinpoint the intruder.

“Oh ho ho! Someone’s got a foul mouth!”

Your eyes snapped to the sound, seeming to emanate from a rather odd looking bird. It sat perched on a toppled lamp post about twelve feet from where you sat, shaking out it’s feathers and eyeing you with it’s weird tri-pupiled eyes.

Ah, another demon. Great.

“Fuck,” You muttered, pulling yourself up to your feet. “When did the birds get so ugly.”

The intruder’s feather’s ruffled and it squawked in indignation. “At least I’m a sight better than you, pipsqueak!”

“You’re a _demon,_ your idea of attractive is probably a nice lizard lady with eight eyes and tentacle tits.”

The demon bird was quiet at that, beak hanging open. You could see it was trying its best to come up with a witty reply and you were rooting for it, honestly. A little banter would be nice. But, alas, it snapped it’s beak shut and simply narrowed its eyes at you from it’s perch.

You pursed your lips, listening to the ring of metal as you tapped the tip of your blade on the stone pavement, keeping the timing even as you sized up the bird. A demon, sure. But a _talking_ demon? That was a rarity. Plus it didn’t seem to be too interested in a fight, so that was nice. Then why was it here? A summon, perhaps. But then where was it’s master?

That question was answered pretty quickly when the tip tapping of metal on stone joined in with your own basic melody. A third eye split open along your cheekbone, pointed in the direction of the newcomer. A tall man, lanky and fragile looking, though he walked with a confident gait and a sway to his steps. Black seemed to be this guys thing, dark leather vest, pants and… sandals? You guess? Why the fuck was this guy wearing sandals, of all things.

“I see you have found another survivor.”

The bird turned away from you to fly over to its master, perching itself on his outstretched arm. Now that you didn’t have to watch two possible enemies from different directions, you felt your third eye close, reabsorbing back into your cheek. The man raised an eyebrow at that, eyes curiously scanning over your face, and then down to the wicked looking great sword seeming to grow from your arm.

You had expected disgust, fear. Maybe for him to scream and flee, it wouldn’t be the first time someone had reacted negatively to your particular ‘gift’. Even while you busted your ass saving their lives these last few hours, you still had to be careful not to show the civilians any of the more grotesque or obvious form changes.

And so the last thing you expected was for his lips to twist up in a wry smile.

“Interesting.” He murmured, cane tip tapping on the concrete as he walked towards you.

“Watch this one, V.” The demon mock-whispered to it’s master. But considering the side-eye it was giving you, it didn’t seem too fussed about whether or not you overheard. “Bit of a spitfire.”

You shrugged, slinging your sword over a shoulder. “’Least I don’t have a tentacle fetish.”

“I don’t- _Ack!”_

It’s sentence abruptly ended as its masters tattooed fingers clamped down around its beak. “Hush, Griffon.”

You chuckled, eyes swinging from the bird to its master. Your eyes met his, curiosity on both sides as you sized each other up. He was a pretty thing, all lean muscle and swirling lines of black ink. High cheekbones and pouty lips. Nice voice, too. You wondered what his singing voice would sound like. But regardless of the man’s physical attractiveness, he still commanded a demon, possibly more with the way his tattoos seemed to swirl around under his skin as if they were alive.

So, a threat. You still weren’t sure if he was a hostile one, but he was a threat nonetheless.

“It is surprising to encounter one of your kind here.” The man noted, eyes sweeping back down to your bladed arm. You tensed at his words, anxiety bubbling up. You could take him, sure. He was a twig. But his summons? You weren’t sure how powerful they were, or how many he had. You hated not knowing the strength of your enemies.

You forced yourself to adopt a relaxed posture, drawling your words to convey a confidence you didn’t feel. “And what _is_ my kind?”

The man just smiled at you, a wry twist of his lips that tugged up one side of his mouth more than the other. It looked more like a smirk than anything and you clenched your teeth, frustration and fear settling uncomfortably in your gut. The only person who knew what you were was Dante, and he’d kept your secret for __years.__  If this man truly knew, and he decided to scream it from the rooftops, you’d have demon hunters from all over the world coming to hunt your ass down.

And if that happened, you could say goodbye to your normal life, cause you’d be on the run for the rest of it.

“Fear not, little wanderer.” He said, face softening into something akin to understanding. _“A secret told, ceases to be a secret. Then, a secret kept, that can appal but One.”_

You blinked, startled. “Emily Dickson.”

His smile widened, “You are correct. It is refreshing to encounter someone who recognizes her work.”

“Great, so what. We got a _mini_ Shakespeare now?” The demon bird chimes in.

“I’m more of a lyricist than a poet, but I know the classics.”

The man inclines his head to you, “it is still an improvement over my other company.”

“And who would your other company be?” You ask, eyebrow raising.

He pauses for a moment, head tilted. “Hmm.” He hums. “You may have heard of them. I am currently working with a group by the name of Devil May Cry.”

You blink, startled all over again. Dante had mentioned he’d taken a new contract. He’d even asked you to join him, but you’d flatly refused, not wanting anything to do with demon hunting. You were happy with mundanity and you wanted your life to __stay__  mundane. Demon hunting wasn’t exactly on the list of things normal people do.

But you guess you didn’t have much of a choice at this point, considering the giant demon tree in the middle of Redgrave. You hated to admit it, but you had to help them now. If only so you could get back to mundanity quicker.

Part of the reason you’d been roaming the streets, actually. You were trying to catch a trace of Dante and Nero, or at least Nico and the van so that you could pop in and offer a hand. Though you were loath to admit your change of heart to Dante. You could already hear the ‘I told you so’ that would inevitably fall from his lips at the sight of you.

You huffed, morphing your arm back to it’s natural state and letting the tension drop from your shoulders. This guy was Dante’s client, you wouldn’t fight him and he likely wasn’t hostile if the old geezer agreed to the contract.

“You know where Dante is, then?” You ask, stuffing your bloody hands in equally blood caked pockets, strolling towards the client.

“No.” He replied, seeming not at all surprised that you would know of the legendary demon hunter. “He left to fight Urizen almost a month ago and has not returned.”

You shrugged, “He’s probably taking a nap. He’ll turn up.”

The man hummed, eyes following you as you walked past him and you inclined your head for him to follow.

“In the meantime, we should find a phone and give Nico a ring.” You tugged at your blood stained shirt, grimacing. “I _really_  need a shower.”


	2. Introductions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short but sweet. Banter is had and introductions are made.

“So…”

You glanced to your right, seeing the demon bird perched on the Client’s shoulder and staring at you curiously. It adjusted it’s grip on his arm as you both clambered over a crumbled wall, careful not to slip on the rubble.

Safely on the other side, you cast it a wary look before turning your eyes back ahead of you. “So, what?”

“So, you got a name?”

“Probably.”

You saw it’s tri-pupiled eyes narrow a little at the edge of your vision. “What'dya mean ‘ _probably _’?__ You gonna tell us or what.”

“I’ll tell you when you ask.” You shrug.

“I just did!”

“No, you didn’t. You _implied_  that I should tell you, but didn’t actually ask the question.”

You were startled when a low laugh emanated from the Client walking beside you. You glanced at him, surprised to see his lips quirked up in a half smile, staring ahead of him as you traversed the broken terrain.

“She is not wrong.” His eyes flicked over to you, lips tugging just a bit higher. “Though I wonder, why do you not simply _offer_  it up? The desire to know your name is there, regardless of whether the question has been voiced.”

You shrugged, lifting a hand to run through your hair and tug it out of your face. “Why would I?” You shoot back, “If you haven’t asked the question, I can’t answer it. I don’t read minds, and I don’t suffer fools. If you wanna know something, ask. Don’t dance around it ‘till you’re dizzy.”

“Am I to take it then, that since you have not inquired about _our_  names, that you have no desire to know them?”

“You’re a client. I don’t need to know your name.”

“I am not speaking of a _need._ ” He replied, eyebrow raising. His lips twisted into a smile that could only be described as _sinful_ as he looked over at you, green eyes meeting yours. “I am speaking of a _desire_.”

Your eyes narrowed at the seductive tone to his voice. But then again, pretty much everything out of that man’s mouth sounded seductive. The dudes voice was kinda bonkers, and you found yourself wondering again what his singing voice would sound like.

Hair bounced around your face as you shook the thought from your head, readjusting the earphone that was perpetually stuck in your ear. Hozier was playing, and you kind of felt the- _ugh_ \- _desire _,__ for something a little heavier.

“[Y/N]” You mumbled, a little miffed this bean stalk could dig under your skin like that. “You?”

__“_ [Y/N]…_” He murmured. Green eyes turned back to the front, his cane tap tap tapping on the broken stone beneath them as you walked together.

Your brow furrowed at the way he said your name and you twisted to look at him again, surprised to find the smile on lips twisted to something a little more somber.

“V.” He said, voice quiet. “My name is V.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your first meeting with Dante probably could have gone better, all things considered.

Old, wrought iron gates scraped against gravel as Dante pushed them open, stepping into the grand courtyard of the mansion. As far as haunted housed went, he thought this one was pretty much the spitting image of what would come to mind. It was pretty similar to other big, ostentatious manor houses he’d been to before, always for work. Though the gardens were overgrown by now, vines breaking from their allocated beds to twist and twine up the building, a few having been ballsy and strong enough to shatter a window on the lower floor, creeping into the house.

Stone shifted beneath his booted feet as he ambled up to the large double doors, pillars standing sentry either side of the rotting wood and the comforting weight of Rebellion sitting heavily at his back. His heart gave a little tug at seeing what’s become of this old home. He’d visited a couple times before, five years ago, when his skills were requested by the man of the house. A middle aged man with graying, salt and pepper hair, a chip on his shoulder and eyes glinting with what Dante recognized as the beginning stages of madness.

He needed someone to act as a bodyguard while he summoned demons.

A dangerous request, to be sure. One Dante wasn’t exactly comfortable with and, honestly, he likely would have put the old man down had it not been for her. A young woman, only eighteen years old with bright eyes and a sharp wit. His daughter, the old man had claimed, though they looked nothing alike. Where his eyes were dark and sunken, sleepless nights leaving heavy bags in their wake, her eyes were bright, crystal clear though some unnamed sadness crept into her expression every time she looked to her father. There was love there, though. And that was what stayed his blade.

The old man had insisted she be present for each of the summonings, though she never did anything but watch and comment ‘no’ at each subsequent demon that was brought through. Dante and her got talking one day, and she mentioned her father feared for her safety. The demon was to be hers to summon at will and protect her, but there was an underlying fear in her eyes that hinted that she didn’t exactly believe that was to be the demons only purpose. He’d asked if she wanted help, ‘I’ve got a place you can stay if it ain’t safe for you here. If you’re scared.”

She just laughed, “my old man’s the only family I’ve got left, Dante.” She’d said. “I’m more scared _for_ him than I am _of_ him.”

And that was that. She’d clammed up about the subject from then on. But she’d accepted his card once the job was over and her pop sent him on his way, and agreed to call should shit hit the fan. That was five years ago now, and Dante hadn’t heard a peep from her since. He’d damn near forgotten all about it until he got a call from a new client, saying the old manor house was haunted. Anyone who went in didn’t come out and there were reports of hearing a woman singing most nights.

The information he’d got from the client was spotty at best. Apparently the father was murdered and the daughter went missing, since then anyone who wandered the property was attacked by some beast. There’d been a few ‘sightings’, but they all sounded bonkers. One claimed the beast was some sort of large, black as pitch dog with eyes the color of rubies. Another witness said it was a woman, with a grotesque elongated limb in the shape of a greatsword, vine-like musculature wrapping around her left side and flesh that writhed in the moonlight.

Every witness seemed to have a different description and Dante was sick of it after the fourth. The only thing that seemed the same throughout all stories, was the color scheme. Black and red. That was it. A fucking _color scheme._ Dante was certain it was a demon. Probably the old man’s pet project went wrong. But he couldn’t pin down the breed with so many varying descriptions. A shape changer, maybe. Or more than one. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel worry tug at his chest at the thought of things going tits up over here. But they said the daughter dissapeared. Maybe she’d gotten out.

He hoped she did.

He shook himself from his thoughts as the doors were shouldered open, one hand reaching back to finger Rebellion’s blade. Dust kicked up under his feet, years of neglect showing through in the rotted floorboards and cracked windows. Dante sidestepped a corpse, it’s throat torn clean open and left to rot. The smell of it had him raising a hand to cover his face, heightened senses slammed with the stench of rotten meat.

“This really what you live in?” He called out, voice taunting. Silence answered him as he made his way through the house, pausing at each door with Ebony in his grip as he checked the rooms for any signs of demonic activity.

Lower floor checked, Dante made his way to the stairs, senses on high alert. He couldn’t hear a damn thing other than the sounds of his own making. Even the expected chirping of birds was creepily absent. He kept up his taunting as he moved up the stairs towards the second floor, steps creaking beneath his weight.

“Might wanna’ get a cleaner in here sometime. Smells like shit.”

Again, no reaction from the mansions demonic occupant. He felt a little uneasy in the silence of the house, so different to how it was the last time he was here. There was always music playing, _always._  Either of the daughters making or from the speakers hidden throughout the house. She’d loved music. Refused to leave her headphones behind even if she was just going for a short walk in the garden. He’d thought it was a little weird, but didn’t question it.

He pushed open another door, Ebony’s barrel peeking in before Dante’s mop of white hair followed shortly after. A large double bed sat in the middle of the room, a door to the side that he figured led to an en-suite. The master bedroom, he guessed. He stepped carefully around the room towards a set of draws at the side of the bed, intending to snoop a little. Maybe the old man left something that’d give Dante a hint as to what he was up to. He was pretty clammed up about the job Dante had done for him all those years ago, so he couldn’t rely on what little he remembered to figure out exactly what the fuck happened here.

His attention was sidetracked at the sight of a picture frame sitting face down on the side table. He scooped it up, thumb brushing away the layers of dust that coated the glass. The old man’s eyes peered up at him, a small smile on his face. His daughter was there, too. Looking maybe ten or so years old in a pretty little yellow sun dress with her hand in the grip of an older woman. Dante would put money on the fact that woman was the little girls mom. They looked so similar to how he remembered her teen self looking. The same bright eyes and mischievous smile, lips tugging a little higher on the left in a lopsided smirk.

He’d never heard anything about the man having a wife, she certainly wasn’t around the last time Dante visited. Though he supposed __someone__  had to pop that little girl out. He carefully put the picture frame back where he found it and turned to dig through the draws.

Sheets and sheets of loose papers fluttered to the floor as Dante tugged everything out, giving it all a cursory look before discarding it. Bits and pieces of demonology, some photocopied pages with handwritten notes in the margins. A book on summoning that had a couple pages ripped out, and a brief scan of the index showed those torn out pages would have belonged in the sections on ‘Binding’ and ‘Possession’.

All in all, not a great sign. Dante was starting to suspect the old man intended something a little more than just getting his daughter a fancy guard dog.

Guilt crept up on him at that thought. The daughter had mentioned the demon was to protect her, but even _he_ knew that wasn’t all there was to it. But he was too damn soft. Saw the way she looked at her father with love and care, _concern _,__  and ignored his better judgement in favor of not murdering the only family she had left. Of keeping her happy.

Fucking idiot, he was. Now where was she? Dissapeared, apparently. But he figured it was more likely she’d been possessed or killed. Body probably didn’t turn up ‘cause there was no damn body _left._

If the old man wasn’t already dead, Dante would have killed him himself.

His fingers met leather during his rummaging and he pulled out what looked like a beaten up journal, the old man’s name embossed on the front.

“Thank fuck,” Dante muttered. Finally a real lead.

He flicked through the pages, headed straight for the latest entry and scanned over the hastily scrawled writing.

_"My experiments were a success. The demon took to it’s host well, with nary a complaint. She is bound in the catacombs beneath the manor as I write this. My daughter put up more of a fuss than the demon, and I loathe to admit that I had a difficult time subduing her. But she is healthy and whole, better than she was. It was disappointing to see her struggle. Can’t she understand that all I have done up until this point was for her well being? Her mother perished before her time, and I am doing all I can to keep my last remaining family member alive. But she does not see this. ‘Heartless’ she called me. Can you believe it? My own flesh and blood, so disrespectful to the father that gave her everything._

_Regardless, it matters little now. The procedure is complete, and once she awakens she will see I have taken the best course of action, and she will thank me."_

_“_ Aww _shit.”_

Dante’s hand came to run over his face, pinching the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. That fucker didn’t bind the demon to her as a summon. He merged them. The old man found a way to merge Demon and Human without killing the human part. Doesn’t mean it wasn’t irrevocably _damaged_  though.

This was… this was a whole lot more fucked that Dante expected it to be. He’d thought it’d be a simple extermination, but the more he learned, the more unsettled he became. If this dude figured out how to merge human and demon in some sort of weird attempt to create an artificial hybrid, then what the fuck else could people do? And that didn’t even begin to cover what the fuck happened to his little ‘experiment’. The daughter was lost, that was a harsh reality Dante had to admit to himself. Because even if the demon that got shoved into her body didn’t completely destroy any humanity she had left, then she would still be a completely different person.

A low growl emanated from his throat as he stood and tucked the journal into his coat. It didn’t fucking matter what happened to the girl now. She was dead, and there was a demon on the loose. Or a… a half breed. _Whatever._ Considering the amount of carnage in the lobby, Dante doubted the creature could be subdued or reasoned with, regardless of that niggling hope that some semblance of humanity remained in you. His first course of action was to take care of the demon thing, then burn this place to the ground. ‘Cause there was no way in hell he’d let anyone find that old man’s research and try to recreate whatever sick shit went on here.

Ebony was tucked back into her holster and Rebellion unsheathed from his back. That creature hadn’t made an appearance yet, and Dante was sick of waiting. His anger and disgust bubbled to the surface as he left the main bedchamber, footsteps no longer light and voice no longer teasing.

“Come on out, ugly!” He called, the tip of Rebellions blade screeching as he ran it over the floorboards. His muscles tensed and he raised the blade to smash into what was once a lovely portrait of father and daughter, glass raining down around him. “Come out and fucking fight me!”

Movement from outside of the window caught his eye. The quick dart of a shadow outlined by moonlight. He wasted no time in smashing through the glass, boots crunching on grass and dead leaves as he vaulted over the windowsill to land in the gardens outside. Before he could scan his surroundings, a blur of black and red collided with him, sparks spitting off the blade of Rebellion as he raised it just in time to parry the hit. The force of the blow sent him skidding back though the dirt. He dived out of the way of another attack, repositioning so his back wasn’t against the wall.

The moon was shit lighting to see by, but heightened senses made it easier for him to pick out the grotesque form in front of him. Barely humanoid in shape, with branching musculature in the shape of vines curling around your left side in the shape of a gnarly looking sword, bones protruding from the edges like teeth. Your face was split horizontally in two, jaw gaping open and massive fangs breaking through the flesh of your cheeks, eyes the color of rubies and skin blackened and warped, writhing in the moonlight as if there were thousands of worms wriggling just beneath the surface.

Quite frankly, it was a little gross.

But Dante didn’t have much time to ruminate about the finer points of your form, as one of those wiggling worms under your skin burst through, the tip morphing into a hardened edge as it came straight at him.

His blade came up, intending to slice it apart, but the vine latched onto his blade instead. More came after the first, all bursting from your blackened skin to coil around his blade and tug him closer faster than the human eye could see.

But it was a good thing Dante wasn’t human.

As your vines tugged him closer, he let go of the Rebellion, whipping out Ebony and Ivory and firing into your chest. Your vines retracted, thrashing around furiously as blood dribbled from the wound. Though it closed as quick as it was made, flesh mending back together in an instant. Rebellion clattered to the ground as you rushed him, an inhuman screech tearing itself from your throat as you raised your left arm, blade glinting in the light and swiped at him. He dodged out of the way, firing two more shots and hitting dead center.

You screamed, more anger than pain, your bottom jaw splitting in half vertically and teeth pushing their way through your gums.

Dante grinned. “Not so quiet now, huh?”

Your only reaction was to rush him again, this time though, your vines dug their way into the ground as well. They burst from beneath his feet, wrapping around his leather clad calves. Your blade came down on him again, and sparks flew as he raised ebony and ivory to block the hit, grunting at the strength of your attack. Your eyes met his as you bore down on him and Dante swore he saw recognition flash in your eyes. You hesitated for a split second, attack waning.

But a split second was all Dante needed.

He angled his guns, firing off two more shots straight into your face. A chunk of flesh tore off your jaw and you retreated, another screech tearing from your throat. Your vines retracted from around his calves and Dante jumped back, out of the way of your wild swing. He scooped up Rebellion and on the battle went. You traded blows for what felt like an hour, both of you an even match for the other. Though where Dante’s attacks were calculated and sure. Yours were wild and untamed, underlined with a hesitation that wasn’t there at the beginning. Almost as if there were a part of yourself furiously trying to hold your body back.

Dante hated himself for it, but he hoped his hunch was right. He hoped there was something human left in you, some part of that young woman he wished he could have protected.

During his badly timed rumination, Dante had neglected to notice the patch of mud beneath his booted foot. His eyes widened as you bore down on him. His foot slipped, sending him stumbling into the side of the building behind him. A cry left his lips as one of your vines pierced his shoulder pinning him to the wall. Another raised, pointed tip flashing dangerously before speeding towards his eye.

He tried to raise his arms to block, but your vines had engulfed them, pinning them to his body. So he did the only thing he could, closing his eyes and bracing himself for a world of hurt.

But the pain never came.

He waited. Two seconds, three. Before cautiously opening his eyes. One of your vines was still buried in his shoulder, your face a mere inches from his. But that vine that was speeding towards his face had stopped, frozen mid air a hairsbreadth away from piercing his right eye and puncturing straight through his brain. His eyes flicked to your face, segmented jaw looking like it was trying its damnedest to stitch itself back together and… and tears, streaking down your face.

_“Please.”_

Dante blinked at the sound of your voice, warped and scratchy as it was. It sounded strained. So much pain hiding behind that one word. Practically begging him with your eyes that had softened, through signs of strain made their appearance everywhere else on your face.

_“Please run.”_

And just like that your vines retracted, leaving his body. He grunted at the feeling of one nicking his collar bone on the way out but before he could say a word, you’d morphed your body once again into what looked like a large breed of dog and high tailed it out of his sight, into the pitch black of the gardens.

Dante’s eyes followed you as you retreated, slumping down on the wall and clutching his shoulder. He knew it would heal in a jiffy, but that didn’t stop the pain from being nuisance _now._ His free hand groped around in the mud for Ivory, dropped from his hand when he slipped and he slid her back into her holster along side Ebony.

Well, he thought, that was a fucking riot.

There _was_  some humanity left in you after all. If that flash of recognition earlier didn’t hammer it home, your hasty retreat and pleading words sure as hell did. You’d asked him to run, probably some part of you afraid to hurt or kill him. He didn’t know for certain why you didn’t leave those other poor sods in the entry way alone, but he had a hunch they weren’t anyone you knew. Maybe seeing a familiar face was what brought you out of your bloodthirsty reverie?

Regardless, there was still _something_  in you that could be reasoned with. Dante knew it was stupid, _idiotic_ of him to feel that small swell of relief in his chest that he might not have to kill you after all. But he’d failed to protect that young woman once, and even though you weren’t really _her,_  but an amalgamation of her humanity and a demon, he still felt the pull to protect you. To fix his fuck up from years before.

So, he wasn’t gonna’ run. In fact, as soon as this little hole in his arm healed, he was gonna go right on out to look for you. And he’d fucking try his hardest to make you see reason. Or at least try not to get shanked again.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An attempt to get your ass out of the house goes a little tits up.

“Fuck _off,_ Dante.”

He grinned up at you. Cocooned in blankets, the only part of you visible was the top of your head, wild hair sticking out at all angles. It would be adorable, had you not latched yourself to the roof, vines piercing through the ceiling in order to hold yourself up and get further away from Dante’s prying hands.

“Aww. C’mon, Shortstack. You’ve been stuck in the shop for _months._ Ya gotta’ get out at some point.”

You grumbled something unintelligible before your head poked out from the mound of blankets, glaring daggers down at you house mate.

“Eat shit and die. I’m not leaving, it’s still too dangerous.”

Dante crossed his arms, staring right back up at you. “You’ve gotten better, kid. Haven’t had an episode in what? Six weeks? That’s a hell of a lot better than the shit you pulled when I first found your dumb ass.”

You grunted, remembering how violent and unstable you’d been when Dante first took you under his care. You’d lashed out at every little thing, wrecking his shop and skewering Dante more times than you could count. Almost ate the pizza guy on one occasion as well, and while Dante brushed it off with his usual aloof humor, you’d refused to answer the door ever since. You didn’t even come down from your room anymore, too afraid you’d slip up and hurt someone.

You didn’t like hurting Dante, or _anyone_  for that matter, even if Dante was Sparda’s offspring and healed as quick as you did, the thought of hurting someone who had spent so much time and effort caring for you, bringing you back down to earth after that shit at the mansion, left a sick feeling in your stomach. He’d been trying to get you out of the house for a few days now, insisting the fastest road to recovery would be getting you out and about. Make some friends, see the sights. Be _normal_ for once.

But you were still scared. Being in the shop was safe, Dante was here to stop you if you lost the plot. But the thought of losing your shit in a public space, with no one around to keep you under control was fucking __terrifying.__

You shook your head, tugging the blankets tighter around you and using the vines to stretch out into something resembling a hammock. “I’m not leaving, old man. You’ll have to drag me out kicking and screaming.”

“Alright.”

Your eyes shot down to him, narrowing in suspicion. “What?”

He shrugged, lips tugging up into a sly grin. _“Alright.”_

You only had time to let out a small shriek before Dante launched himself from the ground, tearing your vines to the side and wrapping his arms around you. You tried to struggle out of his grip, but the duvet you’d so helpfully wrapped yourself in kept your arms and legs pinned. He landed on the ground and swung you over his shoulder, locking your legs against his chest and holding on for dear life. Your body tried to morph, expanding and contracting, sharp, jutting bones piercing through the fabric of your blanket as you tried to wrestle out of his grasp.

“Let me go you piece of shit!”

Dante grunted as one of those bones sliced along his forearm, blood seeping through and staining the duvet. The smell of blood hit your nose and in an instant your struggling stopped. Fuck. Fucking _fuck._  You’d gone so long without hurting him and now you went and sliced open his arm in a stupid, childish attempt at getting away from him. Self-loathing washed over you, regret and guilt making you stiffen over his shoulder. You should be mad at him for man-handling you. But you knew, logically, he was just trying to help. And that made you feel so much worse about hurting him yet again.

Dante seemed to notice your shift in mood, and patted the back of your thigh, stopping just as he reached the bottom of the staircase. “Givin’ up already, huh? Thought this’d be more of a challenge.”

“Let me down.” You muttered, voice resigned.

He did, setting you carefully back on the ground and watching as you unwrapped the blanket from your body, concern passing over his expression.

You let the blanket drop to the floor and then grabbed his unhurt arm, tugging him along to the bathroom without saying a word. You sat him down on the lid of the toilet and started rummaging through his stuff. Eventually pulling out a bottle of disinfectant and a bandage.

Dante pursed his lips at the sight of the items. “You don’t gotta do that, y’know. It’ll heal up in a minute.”

You hummed, eyes focused on your task as you carefully wiped away the blood and examined his wound. It was deep, but luckily it didn’t hit an artery. If it were anyone else you figured they’d need stitches. But some medical tape and a bandage were all the half-demon really needed. Or, well, not __needed__. Technically it’d heal just fine on it’s own, but you couldn’t help that flicker of concern you had about the wound going untreated.

Dante sat still and said nothing more, like a good little patient. He knew when you were in one of your moods and if he picked up anything from living with you the last few months, it was that the amount of guilt and self-loathing eating you up inside almost rivaled his own. You were petrified of your own strength, punishing yourself for fuck ups as simple as cracking a glass ‘cause you put it down too hard, or tearing one of his shirts when trying to get Dante’s attention. Eventually you’d just straight up stopped touching him after you accidentally snapped his wrist trying to tug him into the kitchen to help cook dinner.

This was the first time in at least two months that you’d voluntarily touched him. You fingers were feather light over his forearm, small apologies falling from your lips whenever you thought you put just a little too much pressure on his wound while wiping it down. Dante wished you’d stop worrying about this so much, but he’d spent years of his life seeing himself as a freak, something to be feared and reviled. He knew how you felt, but it didn’t make it any easier trying to break through that solid wall you’d built up around yourself.

Progress was being made, sure. You just touching him was a step in the right direction. Even if it _was_  to treat a wound you yourself accidentally caused. He hated that you were still so afraid of yourself. He’d hoped a day out would show you that you had nothing to fear from yourself, but that’d gone tits up right quick before you even left the house.

He exhaled through his nose as you finished patching him up, fingers lightly dancing over the edge of the bandage to make sure it was secure. You sat in silence a moment, fingers still idly playing with the bandage and eyes intent on what your hands were doing. Dante opened his mouth to speak but you cut him off, voice soft.

“Sorry.” you muttered, “that was a pretty shit move on my half.”

Dante shrugged, lips twisted up in a grin. “Ain’t no thing. Probably shouldn’t have man-handled ya’. But hey,” he winked down at you, eyes soft but full of mischief. “Guess I just can’t keep my hands off you.”

You resisted the urge to skewer him and instead simply scoffed at his playful banter. “Jackass.” You muttered, pulling your hand from him and standing. Dante stopped you before you could move away, hands gently grabbing one of your own. You looked down at him, startled at the sudden contact.

“Look,” he started, sounding uncharacteristically remorseful. He raised his free hand to rub at the back of his neck, eyes flicking away from you. “I’m sorry. If you don’t wanna’ go out, I’m not gonna’ make you. I just thought…” He huffed out a breath and stood. Though he let go of your hand, you were still standing awfully close together. The tight confines of the bathroom forcing you two into each others personal bubbles.

“I thought it’d be good, y’know? Get you outta’ the house, do something _normal_ for once.” He looked back to you, raising his shoulders in a lopsided shrug. “But if you really think you ain’t ready, it’s no pressure.”

Ahh, and now you were feeling even _more_  guilty. The dude was just trying to cheer you up, to make you feel better. Speed up your recovery and re-integration into society. And you’d thanked him by slicing his arm open and calling him a piece of shit. A fucking fantastic house mate you were.

You grumbled under your breath, eyes flicking away from him and backing up until you felt the cool porcelain of the sink seep through your shirt. You crossed your arms over your chest, eyes staring intently at the little patch of grime stuck in one the tiles.

“Get out.” You sighed.

Dante startled, blinking down at you. “ _Wha-_ ”

“Get _out,_  jackass.” You grabbed one of the towels from the rack and ushered him out the door to the bathroom. “I’m gonna have a shower, and then we’re gonna’ get the fuck out of this dumpster shop.”

You slammed the door on his shocked face, mouth agape and eyes wide. It only took a second, but as you turned around to start tugging off your clothes, you heard Dante’s distinctive _‘whoop!’_ from the other side of the door. You could just imagine him pumping his fist in the air in a sign of victory.

You smiled at the thought.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is just a doodle. Kinda gross though, so heads up. A visualisation of what ya beastie form looks like.

Idk if you guys are into this kinda shit, but I've always been more of a visual person. So I figured I'd try my hand at sketching up a quick concept for what the readers beastie form looks like from chap 3. Honestly it was more to help me describe and visualise shit, but figured... idk? I'd share it here as well in case you guys were interested. It's not cannon or anything, so feel free to visualise whatever tf you want. This is just a rough idea of what I had in mind when visualising your beastie form in chap 3.

**Author's Note:**

> So I'm gonna try something out. Take some DMC prompts on Tumblr for a bit and see how it goes? I've never taken prompts for writing before, so it's a bit of an experiment, but I only have so much creative juice to come up with new ideas so maybe if there's something you wanna see written, send through a request to me at 'revaroni' on Tumblr. I've got the same Prof pic as here, so it should be a breeze finding me.


End file.
